


Guinea Pigs

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [87]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Kidnapping, Magic, Major Character Injury, Sadism, The Author SUCKS, The Jims Deserve Better, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: When the Author was first created, he was no less unpleasant than he was later down the line. In fact, he was arguablyworse.Because he liked to experiment. He 'tested the waters'. And he had guinea pigs to test his power on.





	1. Chapter 1

A new ego was in town.

 _Again_.

The one who calls himself the King of the Squirrels had appeared on their doorstep just two weeks ago, surprising and disrupting the _Hell_ out of Dark, Wilford, and the Jims. After literal _decades_ of it being just the four of them, they weren’t quite sure how to handle someone… _new_. But, King was pretty reserved. He didn’t spend much time in the manor, preferring to hang out in the woods behind it instead. He was timid and quiet, almost invisible.

But this one…

The Author was a _nightmare_.

From the moment he stepped into the manor, things… _changed_. They all could feel the power he wielded rolling across them and the manor in waves, as if he was reaching out and testing his abilities. Dark was constantly bristled and on edge, his own aura twitching and snapping, writhing into pointed spikes of dark shadow. The Author made everyone uncomfortable, and his constant shark-like grin made it clear he was _well_ -aware of that fact, and he _reveled_ in it. Still, no one said anything, allowing the Author to stay and do as he pleased, trying to be hospitable.

At least, until the wounds started.

At first, it was just King. He would wake up in the morning with his arms and torso covered in shallow, bleeding little cuts, with more and more appearing every night. In the beginning, Dark and Wilford just wrote it off as him not being careful enough when he was climbing trees, or that that squirrel he called Acorn that he _insisted_ on keeping in the house scratched him in his sleep, but King was insistent it was something else. Dark and Wilford couldn’t ignore it any longer, however, as King delved deeper into hysterics with each passing day and the same little wounds began to appear on the Jims.

It was like an epidemic; the Jims – as prone to the extremes as they are – immediately began to panic, running all about the manor in an attempt to find somewhere to hide. Even the Author had some, ruling him out as a culprit, though Dark in particular had his suspicions. It was when Dark woke to find his black, rotting blood oozing onto his bedsheets that he snapped.

He stormed the Author’s room, throwing open his door and watching through narrowed eyes as he scribbled furiously in a notebook. “Get **_out_.**”

The Author sighed, closing his notebook, and Dark couldn’t help but notice the fresh scratches adorning his arms. “Alright fine. It was fun while it lasted.” He stood, brushing passed Dark without a second glance.

And so the Author left, suspiciously without a fight and without a word.

Suspicious, until they realized the Jims had vanished with him.


	2. Chapter 2

CJ woke first, jolting into awareness with a gasp. He was breathing hard already, darkness surrounding him on all sides. As his panicked, sleep-fuzzy brain began to calm, he was able to vaguely make out his surroundings. He was in…some sort of cabin. A dark, _dark_ cabin, black sheets of something covering the few windows he could see.

CJ’s breathing rapidly began to pick up pace once again as he glanced around wildly. His panic – which had begun to lessen – instantly reaffirmed its tight grip on him, leaving him feeling as if something was physically constricting his lungs and chest, causing him to have difficulty _breathing_.

CJ let out a small, strangled whine, moving to get up out of whatever chair he was seated in, but he rapidly discovered that he _couldn’t_ ; a sharp glance downward revealed the layers of glinting silver duct tape wrapped tightly around his wrists and just above his elbows, trapping them against the armrests and the back of the wooden chair. Trying to kick out just yielded in his chair screeching forward a little, his ankles pinned just as tightly to the legs.

He froze, his head swimming as he went from breathing _too_ much to _not at all_ , when he heard a groan coming from directly behind him. He swallowed harshly, his voice coming out incredibly small and ragged. “H…h-hello…?”

Simultaneous relief and fear crashed over him when he heard RJ’s groggy voice. “CJ? What –” There was a sound like he was jerking in place, his harsh gasps loud in the otherwise quiet. “What’s happening?! Where are we?!”

“I don’t know.” CJ was close to tears at this point, drawing a shuddering breath. “The last thing I remember is Dark telling the Author to leave then just… _black_.”

RJ made a noise like he was going to speak, but then a blinding light was flooding the room, making them both hiss. They heard someone enter the room, and when the spots cleared from CJ’s vision and he became acclimated to the dark once more, he went rigid, fear making his blood run cold, when he spotted the Author bustling about the cabin, his back to them. CJ sucked in a harsh gasp, shrinking in on himself, and the Author waved one hand idly. “Yes, yes, I know, give me one moment!” He grumbled something under his breath, slamming a drawer shut and making them both flinch. “Where the _fuck_ is my – ah ha!”

He whirled around, fixing the Jims with a broad smile as he waved a pen in the air. He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, then hopped up on the counter, tongue poking out between his teeth as he cracked open his notebook, clicking his pen in a relatively steady beat. He glanced up at them again. “Alright, so here’s what’s gonna happen: you two are gonna be my guinea pigs. I’m gonna write some stuff down, you’re gonna tell me how it felt, and we’re just gonna explore together, okay?”

“Where are we?” RJ didn’t even hesitate, jerking in place again, and the Author raised an eyebrow, golden irises practically glowing in the dark.

“What does it look like? You’re in my kitchen, dumbass.”

“Wait, _your_ kitchen? But…you lived with us, at the manor.” CJ was much more timid in his delivery, but he couldn’t hide the curiosity.

The Author rolled his eyes. “The manor is _not_ my home. Never was. I was created _here_ , in this cabin.” He sighed, lips upturning in a small smile as he gazed around. “My own perfect little paradise, deep in the forest and far from any prying eyes. I can do whatever I want here. I just went to the manor to see who my little ‘family’ was. Not very impressed. Got bored quickly. Hence the experimentation.”

“Wait, those cuts…those were _you?!_ ” RJ sounded completely incredulous. “But…you had some to!”

The Author shrugged. “Eh, so I hurt myself a bit, whatever. It let me blend in for a bit longer, let me get a firmer grasp on what I could do. I even got Dark to bleed, which, can I say, was _quite_ the feat.”

CJ cringed, tugging at his bonds as he instinctively tried to curl up. “You _hurt_ yourself! _Intentionally!_ That’s not something to be flippant about, what’s _wrong_ with you?!”

Instantly, CJ regretted his choice of words as the Author’s golden gaze slid to him, narrowing slightly. “There is _nothing_ wrong with me. I am perfectly sane. I just know how to play my cards _just_ right.” Suddenly he hummed, brow furrowing as his entire demeanor shifted, tapping his pen against his chin. “Hm, in hindsight, I don’t like this arrangement. Okay, hold on.”

He slid off the counter, setting his notebook and pen down as he approached. He kicked RJ’s chair aside, obviously not caring that he almost sent him toppling to the floor, and he gripped CJ’s forearms a bit tighter than necessary as he spun him around. He repeated the process with RJ, pulling him closer so he was level with CJ, and he stepped back, hands on his hips. They were both facing the Author now. “There we go! Much better.”

He jumped back onto the counter, picking up his pen and notebook again. “Okay, let’s start with something simple…” He scribbled something down, and RJ wheezed, doubling over and his chest convulsing, as if the wind was knocked out of him. The Author studied his reactions with a piercing stare, head tilted slightly to the side. “How was that?”

“Why would I tell you?!” RJ’s voice sounded strained, fighting for his breath back. “You’re going to torture us just for your own sick curiosity! I’m not going to tell you _anything!_ ”

A strange, dangerous glint appeared in the Author’s eyes. He leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with RJ, his expression flat. “You’re either going to tell me what I want,” he stated slowly, voice carrying a tone like he was speaking to a young child who couldn’t grasp his words, “or I’m going to sew your mouth shut and ask your brother instead.” He resumed his position, glancing back down at his notebook, and appearing oblivious to the shudders his words caused. “Now would you like me to repeat that?”

RJ shook his head rapidly, eyes darting to CJ briefly. “It felt…i-it felt like someone whacked me in the chest with a baseball bat.”

The Author lit up, a beaming smile spreading across his face. “ _Excellent!_ That’s almost exactly what I have written here!” He paused, a thoughtful look passing over him. “Ooh, actually, a bat sounds kind of nice, give me a moment.” He began scribbling again, and within seconds of him pulling his pen away from the paper, a gleaming metal baseball bat appeared propped up against the counter next to him. CJ’s breath hitched as he hefted into his hold, giving it a few experimental swings before resting it in his palm. “Oh yeah, that’s _lovely_. Anyway…” He propped the bat back up against the counter, then pointed his pen in CJ’s direction. “Your turn! Let’s see…”

“Wait! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” RJ struggled wildly, arching up in his bonds, but the Author simply scoffed.

“I said no such thing. Why would I put in the _immense_ effort of teleporting the _both_ of you if I was only going to use _one?_ So shut up and let me work.” He shook his head, writing something down slowly, brow furrowed in concentration.

Instantly CJ was making a strangled noise, convulsing and back arching as _agony_ rocketed through him, and it didn’t stop. His eyes clouded over, rolling back in his head as he shook violently. Distantly he was aware of RJ screaming next to him, but he couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was saying. At last, the sensation faded, and CJ slumped, tears trailing down his face and sobbing quietly as he continued to twitch, phantom pains still ghosting along his skin.

The Author gasped. “Oh that was _much_ more entertaining! What was that like?”

CJ lolled his head back, not quite able to open his eyes, eyelids fluttering. “D-d-don’t you alread-ready know? You wrote it.”

The Author shrugged. “True, but this is about _accuracy!_ Experimenting with adjectives, exploring with certain phrases, the use of _just_ the right metaphor… _that’s_ what today’s about. So don’t spare any details.”

CJ shook his head. “I-I-I don’t know…I d-don’t have the words…” He swallowed. “Like…like I was being electrocuted…with a _really_ strong current…”

He choked back a sob when the Author frowned, staring back down at his notebook. “Huh. That’s interesting. Not quite what I was going for…what if we tried this instead…”

He scribbled something else down, and this time, CJ _screamed_ , until his throat was raw and he couldn’t scream any more. He thrashed, every muscle clenched tight as the Author’s power washed over him. It felt like his skin was melting off his bones, like he was being burned alive and frozen at the same time, his brain short-circuiting until all he recognized was _pain pain pain_. He didn’t even notice when the sensation faded, his gross sobs filling the room. Every sense he had felt dulled and barely functional. He _hurt_. That’s all he knew.

The Author clapped his hands happily. “Now _that_ is more like it! What did that one feel like, less ‘electrocution’ and more the ‘doused in acid’ I was going for?” CJ did reply, didn’t even comprehend what the Author had said. He just sobbed, twitching in his chair. The dull pain of the duct tape pulling at his skin was _nothing_ compared to the _Hell_ he just went through. His eyes fluttered open, just in time to see the Author’s pout. “Pity. You’re already beyond words. That’s my bad, should’ve paced myself.” He turned to RJ, who had gone stock-still, his gaze flicking rapidly between his brother and the Author. “Your turn again!”

CJ was distantly aware of RJ’s following cries of pain, of the forced responses the Author pulled from him, of the desperate pleas in between. It was when RJ stopped making noise and the Author let out a long sigh that CJ finally began to regain his awareness, the residual effects of whatever the Author had done to him to still washing over him in waves. He turned – well, more like lolled – his head toward his brother. RJ was slumped over, his breathing ragged, and eyes closed, completely out cold. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes, unable to tear them away from his unconscious sibling. “What…what did you _do_ to him…?”

The Author raised an eyebrow, glancing at his notebook and idly chewing on the end of his pen. “I think I hit him in the head with…ah yes, I hit him with an ‘abnormally serrated tree branch.’ Quite the mental image. It’s a shame there’s no physical injuries from these, but I bet there _could_ if I really wanted there to be…” He hummed, cocking his head to the side as his golden, burning gaze swept over them. “Since neither of you are capable of giving me decent feedback any more – though your brother was _very_ helpful given the proper motivation – I’ll suppose I’ll have to move onto something I can analyze myself.”

CJ shrunk. “Wh-what does that mean?”

The Author wasn’t listening to him, musing to himself as he waved his pen through the air, tapping his fingers on his notebook. “I already know I can make you bleed, but how far can I go with that? Can I do other sorts of injuries?” His eyes lit up. “I wonder if I can make you hurt your _selves_ …now _that_ would be entertaining…”

CJ’s trembling increased with every word the Author spoke, a cold stone of dread and fear settling like a weight in his gut. “Why are you doing this”

The Author froze, his brow furrowing. “Several reasons, actually.” He began counting off on his fingers. “See what I can do, so I can watch you squirm, your begging is _delightful_ , overall exploration, and – oh yeah – _fun_.” He waved one hand in vague gesture. “I thought about using the other one, uh King, right? But he didn’t appear to have the same sort of… _stamina_ you two have, and he’s almost as new as I am, so I didn’t want to break him. At least, not _too_ early. Plus, why have _one_ when I could have _two?_ It’s double the possibilities.” At last he raised his head, drawing his mouth in a tight line when he noticed the way CJ shook. “You uh, might want to sit still.” His eyes glittered. “We’re in uncharted waters now.”

He took his time writing out whatever was going to happen, pausing often and muttering under his breath about ‘the right Goddamn _words_ ’. When he was done, jabbing the final period into place with an exaggerated flourish, CJ let out a strangled, surprised cry, doubling over as best he could when a sensation like he was being slammed in the chest with a blunt object washed over him. The Author slid off the counter, walking toward him as he struggled to get his breath back. The Author lifted his shirt with the end of his pen, gasping and bouncing excitedly when he spotted the large, purple bruise that had rapidly blossomed across CJ’s chest. “Oh that is _gorgeous!_ ” His loud, overexcited exclamation made CJ flinch. He poked at the bruise with the end of his pen, and CJ twitched, giving a small squeak. “This is fantastic, hold on!”

The Author darted away, rummaging through his kitchen drawers again. He slammed one closed, spinning back around, and CJ’s eyes shot wide at the sight of the _very large_ kitchen knife he brandished. He didn’t have time to panic, however, before the Author was shearing through the duct tape that trapped him to the chair. Confusion swapped CJ as the Author carelessly tossed the knife to the side, and then he was hefting him into an upright position.

CJ swayed where he stood, the room spinning around him, and the Author took the time to steady him before racing away again, grabbing his notebook. He scribbled furiously, his tongue poking out between his teeth before he locked eyes with CJ. “Can you move?”

CJ tried to move, tried to run, tried to do _anything_ , but found he was locked in place, his muscles not responding. Judging by the Author’s bright grin, his heaving chest and wide eyes were answer enough.

“ _Excellent._ ” He began to prowl around CJ, circling him like a predator toying with its prey. He hummed softly, poking random parts of CJ’s torso with his pen as he passed. “Okay, let’s see here…” Seconds later, a choked noise escaped CJ as a deep, throbbing pain started up in his side, steadily getting worse with each passing moment. His shirt was beginning to stick to his skin in that same area, and he could feel the wetness begin to soak into his pants as well. The Author lifted his shirt again with his pen, and he winced. “Oof, that’s deeper than anticipated. Those shallow little scratches are _nothing_ compared this. Alright, let’s see what we got…”

CJ sobbed when he felt the Author touch what could only be a horrific gash on his side. The Author placed his pen between his teeth, carefully pulling the wound open and crouching down to peer inside, sending agony spiking through CJ. Finally, he stepped back, grabbing his pen with blood-slicked fingers. “Okay, I don’t think I cut deep enough to hurt anything important. You’ll be fine.” He patted CJ’s wound, and another sob tore itself from his throat.

The Author sighed, placing his hands on his hips as he scanned CJ’s battered body. “Huh. Maybe I should switch to your brother now. Wake him up from his nap. He’s had a fairly decent reprieve, and _you_ look pretty spent. Not quite as tough as I had hoped.”

He picked back up his notebook, obviously not caring that his hands were covered in CJ’s blood. He wrote something down, and whatever spell keeping CJ locked in place was broken; he swayed heavily, collapsing back into his chair and hanging onto consciousness by a thread. The Author didn’t even bother to tape him back to the chair, seemingly perfectly aware of the exhausted state he was in. CJ slowly bled out, and the Author continued to write.

Eventually, RJ began to stir, letting out a low groan and shifting sluggishly. The Author beamed. “Oh goodie! You’re awake! I was wondering how long it would take.”

And just like that RJ was jolting upright, eyes wide as he snapped his head first toward the Author, then to CJ. An odd, strangled noise escaped him when he laid eyes on him, the sound of CJ’s blood dripping onto the floor almost painfully loud. CJ’s gaze slid to him, eyes clouded and borderline unseeing, tears drying on his face. RJ’s head whipped back to face the Author, narrowing his eyes. “What did you _do_ to him?!”

The Author raised his hands in mock surrender, notebook in one and his pen in the other, and another choked noise escaped RJ when he spotted the blood coating his hands. “Honestly, not much! I did what, like, two things? He just couldn’t handle it.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “But you _can_ , can’t you? You can take _much_ more of a beating, I can _sense_ it.” He glanced around, setting his tools back on the counter. “Now where the _fuck_ did I throw that knife?”

The Author wandered off, muttering under his breath again, and RJ turned back to CJ, practically radiating concern. He spoke softly, barely a whisper. “Hey, hey you okay? CJ?”

CJ hummed, smiling slightly as his head lolled back, completely delirious. “M’fine. Sleepy though…wanna go home…”

RJ didn’t have time to reply before the Author was stalking back into the scene, knife held high as he approached RJ with a bright smile. “Okay, I’m gonna cut you free, and if you so much as _think_ about running off this knife will end up with a new home buried in _his_ pretty little throat. Got that?” RJ nodded mutely, eyes darting briefly back to CJ, and the Author’s grin widened. “Perfect! Now hold still.”

The Author cut through the tape, ripping it off RJ’s skin none too gently and making him yelp. He stepped back, gesturing with his hand. “Get up.” When RJ hesitated, the Author’s lips twitched briefly into a snarl. “Get. _Up_.”

RJ scrambled to his feet, slightly unsteady, and the Author studied him carefully. He reached for his notebook and pen, his eyes lighting up. “Oh this is gonna be fun.”

He hummed as he wrote, some odd little tune that was vaguely familiar. He snapped his notebook shut, watching with undisguised eagerness as RJ’s hand twitched and began to move of its own accord. RJ began breathing heavily, trying to gain back control of his body but nothing _happened_ , and then his nails were digging into the underside of his forearm, hard enough to draw blood. RJ sobbed as his hand dragged downwards, ripping up his skin until he had red, bloody lines trailing from his elbow to his wrist. His knees shook as his arm _ached_. Shakily, he tried to pull his hand away from his flayed arm, but all that happened was another gasping sob tearing free from his throat as his nails caught in the wounds and ruined skin curled up against his wrist.

The Author let out a giddy laugh, covering his mouth with one hand, CJ’s blood giving him a Joker-like painted grin when it fell away. “Are your nails _stuck?_ Oh that’s so _gross_ , okay, hold on, let me help you.”

He stepped forward again, one hand each taking one of RJ’s wrists – the knife still held in one and ever-so-lightly grazing along RJ’s arm. His touch sent a burning sensation shooting through RJ’s skin, and he was given no warning before the Author was ripping his nails free, blood spraying through the air with flecks landing on the Author’s face. The only thing keeping RJ from collapsing was the Author’s iron grip on his wrists. He let out a sharp hiss, trembling violently and clenching the fist of his injured arm, when he felt the Author run his fingers up the grooves of his wounds. And then he was walking away again, leaving RJ swaying in place with blood running down his arm and tears down his face.

The Author sighed, moving to grab his notebook and pen once more, but then he paused, hand hovering over them as his brow furrowed. “Actually…” He glanced down at his bloodstained hands, turning them over slowly, before his gaze flickered back to CJ, still bleeding out sluggishly in his slumped position, breathing gradually growing shallower, and RJ’s tear-stained face. Something… _hungry_ flashed in his golden eyes, burning bright like twin suns. “I think I’m done with words for now.”

He set the knife down – RJ unconsciously letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding – and instead reached for the bat, still propped against the counter and gleaming in the dark. RJ tensed, swallowing harshly as the Author hefted it in his hold, adjusting his grip and giving a few slow, experimental swings. He glanced at RJ, tongue poking out between his teeth as he shifted his stance, lining himself up. His eyes narrowed, deep in concentration. “Now hold still.”

That was all the warning RJ got before the bat was cracking against his chest, every bit of force the Author could muster put behind the swing. RJ made an odd wheezing sound, eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to inhale but _couldn’t_ , stumbling backwards and gripping onto the arms of his chair support. Just as he managed to suck in one, shallow breath of air – nowhere _near_ enough to satiate the panicked urgency rising in him – the Author was cracking down on his back, sending him crashing to the floor and sending _agony_ soaring through him as his undoubtedly broken ribs impacted with the unforgiving floor. He didn’t move, breath coming in loud, painful wheezes, his vison crumbling to black around the edges, he couldn’t _breathe_ –

He heard the Author let out an exhilarated laugh. “ _Whoo!_ That is _so_ much more _satisfying!_ ” The bat clattered to the floor, the Author still giggling to himself as he rode his high. “Okay okay okay, I have had you guys here for…” He whistled. “ _Wow_ , four hours! Time flies, am I right? Anyway, Mr. Boss Man Darkiplier is probably close to tracking me down at this point, so this is my cue to send you back home! _Oh_ , but first –”

There was the tell-tale sound of the Author’s pen scratching against paper, and both Jims flinched, preparing for more pain. Instead, much to their _great_ relief, the exact opposite washed over them, all their hurt vanishing in a puff of smoke, and RJ coughed harshly as he was suddenly able to breathe properly again. “There you go! All healed, no scars, nothing. I can be nice. Sometimes. Anyway, time to go, buh-bye!”

The Jims blinked, and when their eyes opened they found themselves in the entrance hall of the manor, sprawled out on the floor with their vision swimming. RJ couldn’t move, his limbs feeling like lead. The Author may have healed what he had physically done to them, but there was still the deep _ache_ in his bones and joints whenever he tried to move, and his arm still prickled oddly. Still, that didn’t stop him from blindly reaching out for CJ’s hand, gripping it as tight as he could, relief crashing over him when CJ squeezed back as best he could.

“Jims?!”

And suddenly King was there, skidding to his knees and reaching out as if to touch but thinking better of it when they both flinched, shifting closer to each other. “What _happened_ , where _were_ you?! We’ve been worried _sick_ , Dark and Wilford have been out for _hours_ now trying to find you!”

“Th…Author…” RJ pushed himself up onto his forearms, panting heavily. “T-t-tortured us. For _fun_. Healed us though just before he sent us back.”

King gave a small squeak. “Jesus Christ, can you guys stand? You should…I-I’m going to take you to your room.”

RJ nodded slowly, gradually shifting so he was kneeling just as King was. He glanced at CJ, and his heart caught in his throat. His precious twin was clearly not faring as well, his eyes still clouded and unfocused, his earlier delirious smile still plastered to his face. Silent tears streamed down his face, making him shine.

RJ swallowed, gaze darting back to King with pleading eyes. “C-c-can you…help him? He was bleeding out…I don’t know how long…”

King nodded hurriedly. “Yes, yeah, of course, here, come on.”

He lifted CJ carefully up in his arms, staggering for moment at his deadweight, before racing off toward their room, RJ following behind as fast as he could. At last, King was able to set CJ down in his bed, and he helped RJ into his own. RJ collapsed with a sigh, cheek pressed against the cool pillow. Distantly he was aware of King combing his fingers gently through his hair. “You’ll…you’ll be okay. Both of you. The Author…he won’t be coming anywhere _near_ the manor ever again. I’m…gonna go call Dark and Wilford. You’ll be okay.”

King left quickly, and RJ sighed again, turning his head. One of CJ’s arms was dangling over the edge of the bed, and RJ took his hand. Their bed were close enough the he could press their joined hands against his chest. He could feel CJ’s pulse thrumming through his fingers, soothing him greatly, and he finally managed to close his eyes, curling around their hands.

With CJ’s heartbeat in perfect sync with his own, RJ drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And _this,_ along with many more similar incidents, are why the Jims freaked the fuck out around the Author. He's an absolute _bastard_ , but I love him. But anyway, Wednesday's story is one of my absolute _favorites_ that I've written for this series, and all you need to know is the title to know why! 'Kids in the Manor'!


End file.
